


The Four Rascals

by supertoastyqunari



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Tevinter Culture and Customs, Tevinter Imperium
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5404505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supertoastyqunari/pseuds/supertoastyqunari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"An elf, human, qunari and dwarf walk into a bar. The elf laughs the loudest."</p><p>A story of the mention elf, human, qunari and dwarf, who all reside in Tevinter Imperium. The four become unexpected friends and go through several things...together and alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Four Rascals

**Author's Note:**

> A special shoutout and thank you for revolutionjack for helping me with spellchecking!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius discovers new things about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Incaensor = A slang for a magic-using slave; something dangerous but useful if controlled.  
> bas saarebas = non-Qunari mage.  
> venak hol = Wearying one.  
> bas = non-qunari, foreigner.

An elf, human, qunari and dwarf walk into a bar. The elf laughs the loudest.

 

The reader might wonder why. They might ponder whether the bar refers to a tavern, or to a beam to which everyone except the elf hit their heads. To explain what exactly prompted this reaction, the wheels of time must be turned few years backwards. The setting for the story must be described. The atmosphere must be created. The characters should, preferably, be introduced.

 

Therefore, imagine a large city on a rocky island. The island is embraced by water from all of its sides and it is connected to other continents only by one single bridge. A bridge, which can be destroyed. The city mentioned before is not the only one on the island, but it is the capital. It is protected by tall, ancient walls. They are decorated with vines and flowers, creeping from the little cracks in the stone barrier. The only structures higher than the walls are several towers, rising stout and proud, part of the Circle of Magi. The towers cast long shadows.

 

Imagine the busy plaza, the wide streets bustling with people, and the narrow streets inhabited by few shadowy figures. Hear the unbearable noise of hundreds of feet slapping into the ground, the excited shouts of the merchants, the growling of masters to their slaves, a drop of a single coin into the ground. Hear the cries of babies on their parent’s arm, the squeals of the children seeing something new, the laughing of the young adults. Hear the buzzing of the marketplace.

 

Smell the air. A hint of cinnamon, rich scent of incense, and the gentle aroma of mint drifts from the different stalls. Hear the screech of the seagulls. Admire the well-constructed ports and shipyards filled with ships and trading boats. Every day there comes and goes sea vessels. There the smell is closer to the sea, to weeds, to fish. It’s very different from the market. The city has multiple different sides, all very beautiful. It is wonderful, isn’t it?

 

Perhaps a bit of a closer look is required. Obviously, the walls should not be covered in vines. It speaks of lack of care. When you look at the streets again, notice this time the soil in the edges of the street, in every nook and cranny. These streets are cleaned daily by servus publicus, the public slaves. The slaves owned by the state. Their features are mostly elven, their nose bridges strong and the tips of their ears sharp. Some of them are human, chained by loss of stature or poverty.

 

Soiling these streets are the poor. Those, who have yet not turned to slavery, but who fight for their survival still. There are twice as many poor as there are merchants: and there are lot of merchants in the city. Sometimes the rich throw dirt on the ground. This dirt, often in form of red liquid, can be very hard to scrub from the pavement. When this happens, a street is usually cleared of people. It is commonplace, though seen as rather vulgar to do in public.

 

Feel the air. Feel the magic running around the city, leashed and controlled. It brims around structures, keeps them together. Feel the decay of the once beautiful city in your bones, feel how it is falling apart.

 

Imagine the city of Minrathous, the capital of Tevinter Imperium, and the setting for our story is ready.

 

Now concentrate on a single house, a bit apart from any other houses, belonging to a quite wealthy magister of a quite influential house. The magister’s name is Marcus Avitus. He lives alone, accompanied only by several slaves, for his wife died several years ago. The aforementioned elf, human and qunari live here, for they all are slaves. Each have come to the house in a different way.

 

Dar'atisha, the elf, has born to slavery. It is all he has ever known, for his parents were slaves as well. They were Dalish of their origin, but for long now they had “served” in Tevinter. They passed him much of their knowledge behind closed doors and in silent voices before they simply disappeared.

 

Lucius, the human, has sold himself to slavery. He has to make a living for his family, for they are poor. His father and mother are both Soporati, non-dreamers. Non-magical. Lucius still dreams of the day he rises his family from the gutter to glory, though for now it seems very unlikely. A slave has no voice in Tevinter.

 

Asaaranda, the qunari, has been captured and forced into slavery a couple of years ago. She is used to instill fear in the enemies of the magister, and for reasons unknown, she complies. ” _Asit tal-eb_ ,” she says, and all the others have a feeling she is waiting for something. When asked what it means, Asaaranda's answer is simple. ”It is to be.”

 

These three very different people get along well. Though their opinions occasionally clash, their humour and personalities keep them together. Their slavery also keeps them together, for any kind of slavery cannot force anyone to become friendly with another. The three do not have enormous amounts of time to talk, but they take delight in meeting at the corridors whenever they can. Asaaranda has less freedom of movement, but Lucius and Dar’atisha plan their routes so that they may see her every day.

 

They have developed secret gestures and facial expressions to communicate. Written notes would be useless for them, for Dar’atisha is illiterate. No one has taught him to read, for a slave rarely needs such skill. There is no doubt that neither of his parents knew how to read. At night, unless any of them has a nightly duty, the three talk together. These are precious moments for them, for it is the only time they can have normal social interaction.

 

To begin to explain the events that eventually lead to the bar, we must start from the beginning. Let us call it “the first crisis”, for what happened was surprising, sudden, and very traumatizing.

 

It was a dark night and our three friends met as usual. They were standing outside the slaves’ quarters, letting the others rest while they talked.

  


” _Venedhis_ ,” Lucius cursed in Teneve, his mother tongue, shaking his head. He would have been quite handsome man, if his blonde hair had not been dirty and greasy, his fingernails broken and uneven, and if his whole demeanour had not been brought down by the hardship of slavery. Both sides of Lucius’ head were shaved in the fashion of an undercut. The hair left on the middle was quite long, reaching easily past his shoulders. Lucius usually had it on a french braid on work-days, letting it free only when going to sleep. His facial features were a mix of sharp and smooth. Lucius’ nose was sharp and medium-sized. His jaw was moderately strong, but his cheeks soft and smooth. His chin was small and on the wider side. His eyes shone a bright brown colour whenever he spoke of his family, magisters, and especially when he got to talk of magic. Overall, Lucius still had a hint of young innocence to him, a kind of naive kindness. He wanted to rise in the world, but he wasn’t ready to be thrusted into the competitive world of the magisters.

 

This time the reason for Lucius’ cursing was a painful headache that had bothered him for several weeks now.

 

”Come now, it's not that bad,” Dar'atisha answered him with a wide smile. His whole face was smaller than an ordinary elf’s, though it looked slightly higher due to the thick dark brown hair descending all the way to his shoulders. Like Lucius, Dar’atisha usually braided it. His braid was a normal one, much looser and messier than Lucius’ precise one. Dar’atisha had somewhat childish features. His forehead was wide, but not high. His eyes were round, but not very big, and when he laughed there appeared small wrinkles on the corners of his eyes. His narrow nose bridge was on the same level as his forehead, as elves have, but the tip of his nose was a little slope leading upwards. As said before, Dar’atisha’s mouth was quite wide. When he smiled, it conquered half of his face. He was considerably shorter than Lucius, his head being about on the same level as Lucius’ shoulders.

 

”If I could, I'd get you some nice, hard bark to chew on,” Dar’atisha continued happily to his friend. “It would ease the headache.”

 

”Oh, just shut up, Atisha,” Lucius told, holding his head. Atisha was the short version of Dar’atisha’s name they all used. ”I'm telling you, chewing a tree is not going to help this. It's as if the blood in my head was on fire.”

 

Asaaranda, the qunari, stood quietly by them. She was the tallest of them all, towering above Lucius. Her nose was the strongest feature on her face, giving her a stern look. Her jaw was strong and stiff. Her forehead was knobby due to her horns. The horns were long and sturdy. The magister had once threatened to cut them off, but had never even touched them. Asaaranda had kept her horns. Perhaps it had to do with her eyes. They were a piercing green, their shape narrow, yet big. They gave Asaaranda a dangerous look. Her eyes might have been a natural shade of green, but the dark greyness of her skin and the black hair gave them much brighter contrast. Now, they were glued to her friend.

 

”Perhaps the magister has decided that he'd rather have a burning slave?” Asaaranda suggested, a slight smile conquering her face. She obviously was taking the situation no more seriously than Dar'atisha, but at least she was trying to stay serious.

 

”And I suppose you two were too valuable to experiment on,” Lucius grumbled, grumpy because of his pain. He had complained about the headache for several weeks now.

 

”You are not frightening enough to scare the guests, Lucius,” Asaaranda told him with a smile. She did not seem to like her slavery any more than the others, but she had learnt to make fun of it. The first time she had done so, Dar'atisha and Lucius had stared at her for a long time. Asaaranda had laughed even more, the tone of it bright and clear. Then, quietly, she had said that she knew how to joke too. Her friends could never forget the grin she wore.

 

”And he is?” Lucius asked presently, pointing to Dar'atisha. He had, after all, the typical small and slender figure of an elf that allowed him to vanish in the shadows. There was nothing frightening about his appearance.

 

”I could cut your throat if I wanted to,” Dar'atisha commented, and smiled. Asaaranda laughed again.

 

”I'm sure you could,” Lucius told dryly, not amused by such remarks. ”I'm sure it is part of your tradition, too, like your tree chewing.”

 

”Ooh, low. Don’t mock my traditions, dearest Lucius. I haven't heard your talk of the glory and wealth of the ancient Tevinter Imperium for a long time.”

 

”Oh, shut up,” Lucius retorted. ”In Tevinter you need glory and wealth. And influence. And magic.”

At the mention of magic, his eyes brightened considerably. Magic. Lucius loved magic. He adored it. He desired it. Asaaranda and Dar'atisha often observed that Lucius stopped in middle of a chore, closed his eyes, and hummed silently. At such times, he claimed he felt magic in the air. Lucius would explain in great detail how it smelled, how it sounded, how it felt in your bones. Asaaranda disapproved of this greatly, reminding her friend that magic was dangerous. Dar'atisha would laugh, but always listen. Lucius, like majority of Tevinter, revered magic.

 

”Feeling magic in the air tonight?” Dar'atisha asked. He might crack a joke or two about this quirk of Lucius, but he stayed mostly serious on the topic.  

 

”Yes,” Lucius breathed, now smiling as well. “It’s crackling in the air. It smells like ash. It’s powder in the air. It invades your senses completely. Think—imagine if you had that power in your hands. Such power to obey you. It would not only make me powerful. It would give me status. It would give my family a status. They’d be respected. Just because of magic! They would no longer need to wash linens until their fingers are wrinkly, or work so hard that their hands become callused and hard. It would be a chance for me, too. I could become a magister. Sure, it would be a long climb, a terribly long climb, all the way up there, but… it’d be wonderful. Can you really not sense it? There’s warmth. Incredible warmth coiling around us all. It’s like a burning sensation, like a—”

 

”Lucius?” Dar'atisha interrupted his friend, his tone sharp. ”Your hand is on fire. You are burning. It’s—”

 

”No, it’s not my hand that hurts, it’s my head,” Lucius answered angrily, disliking that he was interrupted. Only then did he look at his right hand. It was on fire. Literally.

 

” _Bas saarebas_ ,” Asaaranda whispered. Her whole body was rigid, ready to act. Dar'atisha reacted quicker, clamping his long fingers around Lucius’ mouth to prevent him from screaming. This was exactly what Lucius was about to do, now staggering. His hand was on fire. The warmth was there. It licked his fingers, burning the skin away, devouring his hand. It was scary and unnatural and it was not supposed to happen. It was new and unexpected and all he could hear was the tiny crackling of the fire, Asaaranda’s harsh curse—vashedan, control it, Lucius— Atisha’s gentle whisper in his ear —calm down, Lucius, calm down, breathe and remember what you’ve learnt by listening—and Lucius closed his eyes, only feeling the dying of his hand and arm, and remembered.

 

The fire stopped. The pain did not. The iron grip on top of his mouth loosened, strong hands slowly lowered him to sit down and lean to a wall. Lucius looked timidly to his hand. It was hideous, burnt monstrosity. It did little to the small joy starting to bloom inside him. Dar'atisha was smiling to him like a proud parent. Asaaranda was watching him with careful, studying gaze. Lucius realised why so many magisters cowed in her presence. That gaze seemed to pierce right through him.

 

” _Kaffas_ ,” Lucius cursed silently, diverting himself from the unpleasant feeling that her gaze gave him. Instead, he concentrated on the joy. It made him smile widely. The burning of his blood had been magic, wanting to be unleashed. The little whispers, crackling, the music, the sensations… they had all been magic. Magic! A burnt right hand was a small price to pay for it. Magic was his chance. His only chance.

 

”That looks terrible,” Dar'atisha said, kneeling next to the hand. ”You'll need to get some treatment for that.”

 

”The magister will need to know,” Asaaranda said, staying still a bit farther away. ”So that you can be taught. Otherwise you’ll be a danger.”

 

Lucius nodded. He was starting to look a bit pale, mostly because of the ruined hand. But the fact that his dream was coming true was also a factor in this, for Lucius realised that their master would have a hand in granting this. Perhaps the magister would train him. Most probably yes. But would Lucius ever get to the Circle, where he could actually study anything he wanted?

 

”I need to go see him,” he whispered. His friends helped him to his feet, but he fell almost immediately back down. Thankfully the two had held onto him. Lucius’ legs could not support him yet.

 

”We’ll tell a guard. They'll go wake up the magister immediately. They don't want abominations here,” Dar’atisha said, glancing to Asaaranda.

 

”You won't come with me?” Lucius asked, looking quite miserable and uncertain. He had wished his friends to support him in this also physically.

 

”Not this time, my friend. A guard will help you there,” Dar'atisha said gently, patting his friend's back. “We are supposed to be sleeping already, remember?”

 

When Lucius nodded, though very miserably, Asaaranda returned with a guard, who immediately started taking their friend to the magister after seeing the hand. There Lucius went, a bit wobbling, supported by the guard.

 

When Lucius was out of the door, Asaaranda turned to Dar'atisha. Under her relentless gaze even he started to sweat a bit.

 

”Since when do you carry a knife?” she finally asked, her eyes narrowing a bit. The elf looked as innocent as he could.

 

”A knife?”

 

”I saw you with it, Atisha. Small like one of the tiniest kitchen knives, but definitely sharper.”

Dar'atisha drew the described knife out of his clothes, letting Asaaranda examine it. It was small, fitting to his hand. This was the knife she had seen him put on Lucius’ throat as soon as the male had closed his eyes.

 

”They don't want abominations here,” Dar’atisha informed with a small, sad smile. ”And I would not let my friend become one. Better that he'd have died human.”

Asaaranda nodded. She approved of the action taken, but there was something else that was on her mind.

 

”You are unusually fast, Atisha. Where did you learn to use a knife?” she asked.

 

”Oh, here and there,” Dar'atisha said more cheerfully. ”Daddy and mommy left me with good set of skills to survive this place here. You see, it will not be you or Lucius, who end up sacrificed in a blood ritual for our master. It is always the elves. We are just too beautiful. I am intent on that not happening.” His tone was more bitter than he had intended, though the smile stayed on his face.

 

Asaaranda acknowledged that to be true with a nod. She knew that the elves usually ended up on the sacrificial tables, though she had a suspicion that qunari blood had also been spilled there.

”Just make sure no one sees that knife,” Asaaranda warned him, though perhaps that warning was redundant. Dar’atisha knew to keep it secret. For now, they both retired to their beds. There was nothing more to do about what had happened tonight.

 

Lucius, instead, had still lot to do. He was brought to the door of their master pale and slightly dizzy, but eyes wide with fear. To him, his whole life was hanging from this. He barely could look at the hand without getting the urge to puke. The several minutes that it took from his master to get off bed and to the door felt at the moment very long and afterwards very fast.

 

“What is this?”

 

“The slave has magic,” a guard replied curtly. They did not like slaves discovering powers, for it meant they had to be careful with abominations. No one liked to find several slaves slaughtered at the behest of a demon. Lucius looked down, being taught to do so in the presence of his master. He let the guard show his hand to Master Avitus, though it obviously hurt.

 

“Explain this,” his master commanded. This was directed at Lucius.

 

“Yes, master,” Lucius therefore answered, bowing his head quickly. “I sensed...I think I sensed magic. Then my hand lit on fire.”

 

“Just out of nowhere?” The tone of his master was inquiring, curious. He did not seem angry.

 

“Not out of nowhere, master. I have listened to your magic whenever I’ve… heard it. I’ve felt it in the air. I smelled it,” Lucius began to explain. He was uncertain how much he should share of his fascination with magic. Would the magister see him as rival or as an apprentice?

“Tonight it was especially strong and I was talk—experiencing a tremendous headache, and I was listening and feeling and smelling, because I love magic, or—like it, and I reached for it. I imagined it in my hand. And it... my hand. Burnt.”

 

“You love…or you like magic?” his master inquired. It was an important distinction to him. A person who loved magic would work for it. A person who liked it would not interest him.

 

Fortunately, Lucius did not lie, or his chances would have vanished in thin air.

 

“I love it, Master Avitus. I desire it. It is so beautiful. It seems so complex and simple at the same time. Please, I would give anything to be able to study it. Under you,” Lucius pleaded, and encouraged by his passion for magic, rose his gaze to meet his master’s. He managed to hold it only for a brief moment. Embarrassment made him look back down. He was a slave, after all.

 

“Your full name?”

 

“Lucius Valerius.”

 

“Valerius...hmm,” Master Avitus wondered. He seemed to try to recall if he had heard the family name before.

 

“My parents are part of the Soporati,” Lucius said quietly, hoping the fact would not dismay his master. It did not. Master Avitus only laughed a bit.

 

“Ah. Your family will be proud of you, then. A number of Archons have been Laetans. You wish to become an Archon, boy?”

 

Here Lucius stayed silence, for he had not thought that far. He had only daydreamed of having magic. He had only wished for influence. Power.  He had not even known that one could become an Archon without being an altus.

 

“I simply yearn knowledge, Master Avitus,” he therefore said sincerely. This, naturally, suited Master Avitus. He did not wish to create a rival, but an apprentice, who would be loyal to him, could prove most useful. Lucius’ apparent innocence perhaps fooled the old magister a bit.

 

“Your hand needs treatment. It’s never going to be completely healed, that much I can say for now,” Master Avitus said with a sad smile. “Meet me in my study. We’ll look at it there and go over the most basic things. Just so that you won’t burn the slave quarters while we sleep.”

 

Lucius, overjoyed, nodded eagerly. Though his master had yet to promise to educate him properly, he already dreamed of going to the Circle. He tended to daydream perhaps a bit too much. The Circle would have the best teachers, the best libraries. There would be all the knowledge Lucius could want! Or, so at least, he thought. Lucius was not completely ignorant to the malice inside the Magisterium. He knew magisters had to fight for their positions. He knew rivals died in most unfortunate terms. He knew there were alliances between the magisters. Sadly, Lucius thought most of the tales that he had heard were exaggerations. Even when they were not. Though he’d learn in future that magic was not quite as sweet as he thought, for now, Lucius loved the power bestowed upon him. His only problem was the pain that started slowly becoming stronger and stronger. The shock was wearing off, leaving him tired and in enormous pain.

 

The next morning began in tense atmosphere for both Dar’atisha and Asaaranda. They had heard nothing of Lucius, after all. The other servants were curious of where he had vanished to. The disappearance of one of the slaves was easy to notice and usually worrying. It could mean several things and blood sacrifice was one of those.

 

Asaaranda would be the first one to find Lucius. Her duties were fairly simple. She was to stand by the magister’s side at most times. She was in a way his bodyguard, though Asaaranda would never protect him. The enemies of the magister, however, did not know this. Not yet, at least. The Qunari frightened many, even if she had never hurt anyone. Sometimes, mostly in public, Magister Avitus referred to Asaaranda as his guard-dog. He had even made her wear a collar in resemblance to such in the beginning, an accessory meant to degrade her. But Asaaranda had broken the collar and told the magister, who she called _venak hol_ on that occasion, that she was here because she had not tried to leave. The magister remembered that event to this day. She wore the collar no longer.

 

So it was that Asaaranda’s day usually started by visiting the study of the magister. Except this time, instead of the magister, she found Lucius lying on the cushioned sofa. He seemed asleep. The sun was shining from the windows directly on him, hopefully warming his barely clothed body—Lucius was only wearing pants. A thin blanket was lying on the ground next to him. The poor boy had probably thrashed in his sleep so much that it had fallen off. His hair was completely disheveled, and his right hand had been bandaged. The bandage was dirty, presumably stained by blood, as was the bundle of clothes nearby Lucius. It was a wonder the magister had let Lucius stay here. As Magister Avitus was not around, she walked to Lucius and gently tried to wake him up.

 

“Lucius?” Asaaranda called quietly. She was rewarded with the slight fluttering of Lucius’ eyelashes. He was waking up.

 

“Mmh,” he muttered, frowning. Truthfully Lucius had slept only couple of hours, but Asaaranda did not know this. “Asa?”

 

Asa was the short version of Asaaranda that only Lucius used, and he only used it when he was too tired to pronounce her full name.

 

“Yes. Are you alright?” Asaaranda asked, smiling a bit at her friend. The news couldn’t be too bad, if Lucius had slept on the sofa without fear. His hand had been treated too, after all.

 

“Yes. He will train me. He taught me a bit last night. I, uh. I’ll explain later, in the evening. I’m still—” Lucius muttered sleepily, but was interrupted in middle of the sentence as the door to the study opened, and Magister Avitus entered. Asaaranda noticed this, but ignored him deliberately.

 

“Still?” she asked, encouraging Lucius to continue. But he had noticed Master Avitus, and was struggling to get up.

 

The two had very different relationship with the magister.

 

Asaaranda always referred to him as “ _bas_ ” or “the magister”. Once she had called him “ _dathrasi_ ” and once, as mentioned before, “ _venak hol_ ”. The last two were insults. She despised and pitied him. That pity would have not moved her to save him from danger. It was pity that a worker might feel for a tool that does not work properly. One throws it away, but feels bad for the wasted potential.

 

Lucius, instead, held respect for their master. Master Avitus had taken him in as a slave, giving him work. He had always been treated well. As well as someone in his position should be treated. Now, when his magical abilities had surfaced, Master Avitus had not despised him or his origins. Master Avitus had given him the chance he wanted so desperately. Because of this, the two treated the magister differently. Asaaranda showed him indifference, while Lucius showed respect.

“Master Avitus,” he whispered, almost with reverence, and received a smile in exchange. Asaaranda sighed, for she did not want to wait until evening to hear everything.

 

“Good morning, Lucius,” Master Avitus greeted his new apprentice. “How is your hand?”

 

“It is better, master,” Lucius answered, barely even glancing at his hand.

 

“I am glad to hear that. Now, I want you to still perform your usual duties. Are you able to do them with that hand?”

 

“Oh—yes. I suppose, yes,” Lucius stuttered, surprised that he was demanded to work with his injury. He had no doubt imagined that being a mage would free him from his normal work, that it would come with better treatment, even if he would never admit that to his friends.

“We will see in the evening again. I want you here at exactly seven,” Master Avitus told his new apprentice, wearing a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Lucius bowed, gathered his clothes hurriedly, and left. Asaaranda walked to where she usually stood, still ignoring the magister.

 

“Worried for your friend, qunari?” Marcus Avitus questioned her, his tone amused. “Or did you wish to convert him to your Qun?”

 

He received absolutely no answer. Asaaranda did not even blink. This was her usual reply to anything the magister inquired about, unless she felt the need to answer. She most often did not. Magister Avitus sighed with a smile, waved his hand dismissively and sat in his chair. He no longer pushed for answers, as he had done in the beginning. Both of the two in the room knew it was because he was afraid of her. Both also knew he would never acknowledge that.

 

It was already way past midnight when Dar’atisha saw either of them. He had done his duties happily and as the night had descended, he had sat down to the corridor to wait for his friends. He waited for quite long while. First, he saw Lucius, who sat tiredly next to him. His hair was a complete mess and there were burn marks on his both hands, and even small ones on his face.

 

“Controlling the magic is harder than I thought,” he muttered with a heavy sigh as Dar’atisha curiously asked what had happened. “I thought I knew a lot about magic, but I seem to know nothing.”

 

“So, are you gonna give up?” Dar’artisha teased Lucius, an obvious smirk playing on his lips.

 

“Of course not! I want to learn more, much more. It feels like we are going so slowly through everything. And still it’s almost like I can’t keep up physically. I burnt myself so many times. Master said that he won’t teach me healing before I can control fire and my own mind better,” Lucius complained. His tone was a hint more enthusiastic than before, causing his friend to smile more.

 

“Where’s Asaaranda? Still guarding master?” Dar’atisha asked, glancing around the corridor. Lucius nodded.

 

“Master Avitus was heading towards bed when I left, so she should be here soon,” he answered with a yawn. “Unless someone attacks him, of course.”

 

“No one would be foolish enough.”

 

“I suppose. There haven’t been any attacks while I’ve been here, but you’ve been here for much longer, true?”

 

“Oh, yes,” Dar’atisha nodded eagerly. He had been here since he had been born, and so considerably before Lucius. He had known Master Avitus all his life. “I can recall one or two failed assassination attempts. They ceased after Asaaranda appeared. Or, most of them, it seems. We don’t know what happens during the night.”

 

“That is true. Asaaranda is not by his side at those times. Though I doubt that matters. She’d never actually protect him,” Lucius said and sighed. The qunari’s hate for their master was sometimes tiring, even if they never really spoke of it.

 

“Yeah, no,” Dar’atisha laughed. “But in her position, would you?”

 

“I-I don’t know. I want to say yes, but I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be more sensible for her to try to escape and not stay here, if she is still loyal to the Qun?”

 

“Well, we can ask from her. There she comes.”

 

Lucius turned his head to the direction Dar’atisha was pointing. Asaaranda indeed was coming towards them in her usual quick pace.

 

“My duties seem to be longer now that mister  _saarebas_ here is learning magic,” she sighed in a theatrical way. “We are going to have some guest tomorrow, since he wants me to report to the living room instead of the study.”

 

“Is ‘saarebas’ an insult?” Lucius asked, grimacing at the use of the word.

 

“It’s what we call mages,” Asaaranda only told him. Dar’atisha only smiled.

 

“Well then. You two have long days and I have normal days. Life seems finally fair,” he joked in his cheerful manner, earning a smile from both of his friends. “I wonder who the guest is. Probably another magister.”

 

“Well, Asaaranda will see them, whoever they are. You’ll tell us, right?” Lucius pointed out with a shrug. Their master had visitors every now and then.

 

“Oh, but you’ll be there too, Lucius,” Asaaranda answered with a smile. “The magister wants to show off both of his pets.”

 

Her comment earned her a long stare. Apparently Lucius had no idea he was going to be attending such.

 

“Don’t forget to groom yourself,” the qunari said, smiling sympathetically at her friend. Lucius had become rather nervous.

 

 


End file.
